Rumors traveled faster than official reports.
They always had.
Authority files moved through secure channels, classified networks, and bureaucratic approval chains that stretched longer than most monsters survived.
Rumors needed none of that.
Rumors moved through bars.
Through late-night message boards and black-market chat groups. Through exhausted hunters drinking cheap alcohol after raids that should have killed them.
Through people who saw things they didn't fully understand and told the story anyway.
By the time the official response teams finished writing their incident reports, the rumors were already halfway across the city.
Tonight was no different.
The bar was hidden beneath a collapsed parking structure near the southern rail district.
Officially, it didn't exist.
Unofficially, every freelance hunter in London knew how to find it.
The entrance was a metal door halfway buried behind construction fencing. Inside, a narrow staircase descended into a low concrete chamber lit by dim industrial lights and flickering neon signs that had been stolen from somewhere better.
The place smelled like smoke, sweat, alcohol, and wet concrete.
Hunters filled most of the tables.
Some wore armor pieces over civilian clothes. Others carried weapons leaning against chairs or slung across their backs. The quiet hum of combat gear and barrier devices filled the background like a mechanical heartbeat.
Tonight's conversations all circled the same topic.
A Gate that had closed before Authority arrived.
Another one.
A broad-shouldered hunter slammed a glass down onto the table.
"I'm telling you, someone cleared it."
His partner shook his head.
"That's not how it works."
"I saw the bodies."
"Then Authority got there first."
"They didn't!"
The second man frowned.
"Then who did?"
The first hunter leaned back in his chair.
Lowered his voice slightly.
"…You know who."
The name spread quietly across the table.
"Gate Ghost."
A third hunter nearby snorted into his drink.
"That story again."
"You weren't there."
"No one is ever there."
"That's the point."
More voices joined the conversation from neighboring tables.
"I heard he works underground."
"Clears small Gates before they stabilize."
"Bullshit."
"Then how do you explain the bodies?"
Someone across the bar raised their glass.
"To the ghost."
A few hunters laughed.
Others didn't.
Rumors didn't grow this quickly without something feeding them.
Three blocks away, inside the London Authority Operations Center, the mood was less relaxed.
The room was large and circular, its walls covered with digital displays showing maps of the city, Gate activity reports, and live feeds from surveillance drones sweeping across multiple districts.
The center table projected a three-dimensional model of London's underground infrastructure.
Distortion signals flickered across the projection like distant lightning.
An analyst tapped one of the blinking markers.
"Dock district Gate closed at 00:21."
Another analyst looked up from her station.
"Authority teams arrived at 00:29."
"Eight minutes."
"That's within response range."
"Except the Gate was already gone."
Silence settled across the room.
Everyone knew what that meant.
One of the senior technicians leaned back in his chair.
"That's the fourth time this month."
"Fifth," someone corrected.
"Unofficially."
A quiet voice spoke from the far side of the table.
"Pattern?"
All eyes shifted toward the woman standing near the projection.
Evelyn Cross.
She didn't wear heavy armor tonight. Just the dark Authority tactical coat over a simple combat suit, sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow. Her short black hair framed a calm expression that rarely changed even when things were going wrong.
Which was often.
She studied the projection carefully.
"Locations?"
The analyst highlighted the last five incidents.
All underground.
All small Gates.
All closed before Authority arrived.
Evelyn folded her arms.
"Response time?"
"Seven to twelve minutes."
"And every time we arrive…"
"Gate is already cleared."
"And witnesses?"
"Minimal."
One technician shrugged.
"Some freelance hunters claim they saw someone."
"What did they see?"
"Tall figure."
"Dark coat."
"Left before anyone got close."
Another analyst added quietly:
"And they keep using the same name."
Evelyn didn't ask.
She already knew it.
"Gate Ghost."
The room fell quiet again.
The technician shrugged again.
"Probably just rumor stacking."
"Freelancers love ghost stories."
Evelyn didn't respond immediately.
Her eyes moved slowly across the map.
Five Gates.
Five identical patterns.
Too clean.
Too fast.
Too efficient.
Freelance hunters didn't clear Gates that quickly.
Authority teams sometimes did.
But even Authority required preparation.
She looked up.
"Next predicted distortion?"
One analyst tapped the map.
A red pulse appeared beneath the industrial sector.
"Possibly forming."
"Confidence?"
"Forty percent."
Evelyn turned toward the exit.
"Deploy a drone."
The analyst blinked.
"For a forty percent signal?"
"If it's nothing," Evelyn said calmly, "we waste a drone."
"And if it isn't?"
The analyst didn't need to answer.
Back underground, the bar had grown louder.
Alcohol and rumors mixed quickly.
The broad-shouldered hunter was still arguing his case.
"I saw the monster. Its skull was crushed."
"Could've been Authority."
"No Authority weapon does that."
"Maybe a B-rank freelancer."
"Then why didn't they show themselves?"
Someone at the next table leaned in.
"Because ghosts don't like paperwork."
Laughter rippled through the room.
Except for one person.
A young woman seated near the back wall had been listening quietly to the conversation.
Maya Lin didn't look like most hunters.
She wore light tactical gear designed for speed rather than durability. A slim sensor band wrapped around one wrist, and her short dark hair was tied loosely behind her head.
Her drink remained untouched.
She watched the arguing hunters with mild curiosity.
Eventually she spoke.
"You're all assuming the wrong thing."
The nearest hunter looked over.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
She leaned back slightly in her chair.
"If someone is clearing Gates that fast…"
"Then they're not competing with Authority."
"Then what are they doing?"
Maya shrugged.
"Farming."
The table went quiet.
Another hunter frowned.
"Farming what?"
She looked at him like the answer should have been obvious.
"Monster cores."
Several kilometers away, beneath a section of unused transit tunnels, Arin Vale walked alone through the dark.
The air was colder here.
The tunnels older.
Water dripped slowly from cracked ceiling panels as he moved deeper through the maintenance corridor.
Echo Sense pulsed outward again.
Another faint distortion ahead.
He exhaled smoke.
"Busy night."
Somewhere behind him, far above the surface, the city continued whispering about a ghost.
Arin didn't mind.
Ghosts had advantages.
Ghosts didn't have ranks.
Ghosts didn't attend briefings.
Ghosts didn't explain themselves.
He stepped into the next tunnel chamber just as the Gate began to form.
The air twisted.
Reality folded inward.
Arin rolled his shoulders once and flicked the cigarette away.
"…Let's get started."
And somewhere across the city, inside the Authority operations center, Evelyn Cross watched the same distortion appear on her map.
For the first time that night, she smiled slightly.
"Let's see if the ghost shows up again."